Chapter 9 Grace #2
I nod, stepping to the side to allow room for him in the small space.
Mr. Graves dips his chin in thanks, taking his place beside me with his head facing forward and hands clasped in front of his waist. Hints of charred tobacco and aftershave fill my senses at his proximity, and with each breath, heat curls low in my stomach.
As if sensing my sinful thoughts, Mr. Graves turns his head toward me, the corner of his mouth pulled upward in a smirk. “Where are you off to, Grace?”
I have to jut my chin up, up, up to look him in the eyes, and I’m reminded once more of just how massive the man is. Despite how small I feel, I tug my shoulders back, trying not to cower under the weight of his heated stare. “Just grabbing some lunch. The one I brought seems to have run away.”
He smiles then, but something in his eyes makes me shiver.
“What a coincidence. I left mine at home.” Mr. Graves stuffs his hands into his pockets as he turns to face me fully.
“Since we’re both going out, would you care to join me for lunch, Ms. Kent?
I could use a local to show me a couple of good spots nearby—yesterday, I got some of the world’s worst Thai food, and I’m in no mood to repeat the experience. ”
“Um…” I bite my lip, debating his proposition. He’s my boss, so I don’t want to offend him by turning him down. On the other hand, what would people think if they saw us out together?
“No pressure either way,” Mr. Graves adds. “Just thought I’d ask.”
Realizing I’m being overdramatic, I shove down my anxiety and turn to Mr. Graves with a bright smile. “Let’s do it. Is there anything in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“Yes. There is.” His expression seems to darken, lips pressing together in a small frown as his pupils expand, consuming the surrounding color. “But it’s not available right now.”
“Oh.” My brows furrow as I try to work out what type of cuisine it could be. “What is it?”
At that moment, the elevator doors slide open, and Mr. Graves holds a hand out, ushering me off the lift. “After you, Grace.”
I give him a toothless smile and step off, sensing his stare aimed at my back, heating my neck and making my heart thrum violently. He catches up to me with a quick few strides, his large palm swinging lightly by his side, nearly close enough to brush my arm.
“You asked me what I want, but the real question is—what is Grace in the mood for?” He asks, holding the door to the outside. A gust of cool air blows in through the opening, and the hairs on my arms stand straight—or perhaps Mr. Graves’s closeness is having an effect on me.
“There’s a good deli right down the block. I’ve grabbed it a couple of times when I didn’t have time to pack my lunch,” I say, gesturing in the general direction. “They have a really good tuna salad sandwich.” Which I will be staying far away from today…
“Sounds good.” He follows my lead as I make a left out of the building.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, but every now and then, I sense Mr. Graves’s stare boring into my profile. Only, whenever I look, he’s always facing forward, or taking in the views of the city.
Strange…
We order our lunch at the deli counter—a turkey club for Mr. Graves, and a tomato soup and grilled cheese for me. I try to pay for my meal, but Mr. Graves swipes his card before I have time to reach for my wallet, leaving no room for argument.
“You showed me this place,” he says. “It’s only right that I pick up the check.”
Flattered that he’s being such a gentleman, I thank him and find us a table to sit at while he waits for our order. My stomach flutters as he sits down opposite me, his smile wide and forearms rippling as he passes me my food.
“Thank you again.” I drop my gaze to my meal as a wave of shyness overcomes me. “You’re being very kind.”
He grins as he unwraps his sandwich. “Just paying you back for showing me someplace good to eat.”
He takes a bite, and his eyes roll back as a low groan echoes from his throat. I freeze, all too aware of the flush creeping up my neck, the head building between my thighs. No man should be this sexy. It just isn’t fair.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying it,” I say, my voice coming out raspier than I’d like. I clear my throat and take a bite of my own lunch, but I can’t fully enjoy the taste, too flustered from the sight of the man sitting across from me and his heated stare.
Mr. Graves watches my throat as I swallow, and if I wasn’t so attracted to the man, I might think his rapt attention was a bit creepy. He drags his eyes down, and my skin prickles with awareness.
“You have a beautiful body,” he says, nearly too quiet for me to hear.
Indignation flushes my face, and I jerk back in alarm. “Excuse me?”
I was enjoying his attention, sure. But making comments about my body is going too far. He’s my boss for God’s sake.
Mr. Graves tilts his head to the side, brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “I said—you have a button undone. On your blouse.” The creases in his face deepen along with his frown. “What is it you think I said, Grace?”
“I… nothing,” I mutter, shame replacing the heated anger rushing through my veins. Am I losing my mind? Is all the stress and lack of sleep taking its toll on my brain?
I focus on fixing my blouse while Mr. Graves goes back to eating his sandwich, the picture of composure.
I’m distracted, so I don’t notice the random man approaching from the side, intending to squeeze past my chair.
The space is a little cramped, and unfortunately, he knocks right into my chair, pushing my body forward, and my elbow dips right into my tomato soup.
“Ah!” I jerk back in surprise, gazing down at the bright red stain. I grab a napkin and try to wipe some of it away, but it only makes the situation worse. “Damn,” I murmur. “This was my favorite blouse.”
With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Mr. Graves, but he’s no longer in his seat.
“Excuse me! Sir!”
My face heats as the stranger who bumped into me whips around, his brow furrowing at the sight of Mr. Graves waving him over. Reluctantly, the man comes closer, stopping a few feet from the table.
“What?”
Mr. Graves stares him down with a stony expression. “You bumped into this lady’s chair and ruined her blouse. I think you owe her an apology.”
The man sneers at Mr. Graves, then turns to me with a glower. “I’m sorry that a tiny spot of soup ruined your day, lady. Now can I go?”
Mr. Graves shoves his hands in his pockets, the vein in his temple throbbing. “No. Apologize to her. Properly this time.”
The man scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re not the king of Moriton, buddy. Fuck off.”
Sensing the rising tension, I reach out, grabbing Mr. Graves’s hand. “It’s fine, Mr. Graves. Really. This guy isn’t worth it. Please, let's just go back to eating and forget about it.”
The man laughs under his breath. “Better listen to your bitch. She’s got some sense.”
But Mr. Graves doesn’t seem to hear him. His eyes are locked on the spot where my hand is grasping his, the muscle in his jaw jumping wildly.
Without a word, he sits back down at the table, offering me a wide grin. “Of course. Let’s go back to our meal. I’m sorry for my outburst.”
“It’s okay…” I’m all too aware of the fact he’s still holding my hand.
The stranger rolls his eyes once more and turns away, making his way to his table in the back of the restaurant.
As soon as he disappears from view, the tension in the air eases, and everything goes back to normal.
I’m a little flattered that Mr. Graves stood up for me like that.
The guy was a royal asshole, and totally deserved the world-class glare he got from my boss.
About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Graves gets up to use the restroom, leaving me alone at the table to finish my last few bites. As I wait for him to return, I can’t help my eyes from moving to the back of the restaurant where that awful man is sitting—but when I look, he’s not there.
Shrugging, I pull out my phone and do a quick scroll of my social media, the minutes ticking by slowly. Finally, Mr. Graves returns to the table, sitting down with a satisfied smile.
“I’ll finish up and we can get out of here. Sound good?”
I nod, my insides fluttering at the intense way he looks into my eyes. “Sounds good.”
Mr. Graves takes his time finishing, and we spend the rest of my lunch break having more pleasant conversation. When it’s time to leave, Mr. Graves pulls my chair back and offers his arm, a gesture so foreign it makes me blush.
Just as we’re exiting the deli, the one rude man from earlier rushes past in a hurry. Mr. Graves pulls me out of the way just before the man bumps into me a second time, pulling me flush against his chest and out of harm's way.
I’m able to get a glimpse of his face as he runs outside, and the sight fills me with alarm.
The man’s face is pale white, one hand covering over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach.
My gaze follows him as he runs across the street, kneeling over every few feet to spew a mixture of vomit and blood onto the pavement.
The sight turns my stomach, and I look away quickly so I don’t lose my lunch. “Damn,” I say. “That guy does not look okay.”
I turn my head to face Mr. Graves, but he doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as I.
“Looks like a mean case of food poisoning to me,” Mr. Graves says, shrugging nonchalantly. “Good thing we didn’t order whatever he got, right?”
“Yeah… I guess so…”
He gives me a wide grin. “Well, I better get us back to the office. They’ll be wondering where we’ve gone.”
He gestures for me to follow him as he takes off down the sidewalk.
“Okay…” I hurry to catch up with his long strides.
I tell myself that Mr. Graves’s explanation makes sense, that everything I just witnessed is normal, that food poisoning totally makes you cough up blood, that nothing sinister is going on. Only, the whole way back, I can’t shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.